The Adventure of Winterbourne House
by KnightFury
Summary: Holmes and Watson are very unwelcome guests when they arrive in a little Yorkshire village at the request of a nervous client. - AS ALWAYS THERE IS NO SLASH - Story submitted as a Birthday present for my friend, Ballykissangel. Many happy returns my dear!


_A happy Birthday to my friend, BallyK. I do hope that this offering amuses you. Believe it or not, this began life as a short story..._

**The Adventure of Winterbourne House**

My intimate friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and I had started out early for a quiet village in the county of Yorkshire, but all had not gone to plan. When our train finally reached our destination the hour was very late and we were both exhausted. I assisted Holmes in gathering our bags and we stepped out into a stinging hail storm which immediately attacked the exposed skin of our faces.

"We should find a cab," Holmes remarked as he tucked one of his bags under his arm to rub at his aquiline nose, which was clearly becoming sore from the repeated blows of the ice chips.

"Yes indeed," I agreed with a smile as I set down the bags in my hands to adjust my companion's muffler so that it protected his reddening nose.

"Thank you Watson. Are you all right?"

Aside from being cold and weary I was. I assured my friend that I was in no discomfort as I pulled my own muffler up over the end of my nose, though my old wounds were beginning to pain me somewhat when I again picked up my share of the bags.

Upon leaving the station platform, we discovered that our client was waiting for us with a four wheeler. It was a welcome sight and we greeted him with sincere gratitude as we scrambled inside.

"George and I had all but given up hope," Mr. Winterbourne informed us as we attempted to make ourselves comfortable. "Why was the train so late?"

"Localised flooding between two of the most remote villages on the line meant that we had to go part of the way by carriage and then catch a connecting train at the nearest station," Holmes explained with a yawn.

"You must both be exhausted!" the fellow remarked with concern. "And chilled to the bone as well, no doubt. When we reach the inn I shall order you a good, warming drink."

"The inn?" I repeated with some confusion, directing a glance toward Holmes. As I had expected, the fellow's expression mirrored my own disbelief.

"I was lead to believe that we would be sleeping under your roof Mr. Winterbourne," Holmes added with a frown.

"Yes and I do apologise," he replied. "My uncle and cousins have arrived quite unexpectedly and I could hardly turn them away. They were forced to leave their own home due to flooding, I understand."

Holmes sniffed. "No indeed," he agreed with a tight smile. "You could not turn away your own family at a time of crisis." I thought that he looked rather put out, for all his show of sympathy, but he said nothing further and our client seemed not to notice.

"It was my uncle that made the arrangements for you," Mr. Winterbourne informed us. "He sends his regards - and his apologies for the misunderstanding."

The inn did little to improve my companion's annoyance at being refused a comfortable stay at our client's own home. It proved to be a tumbledown building that had seen better days. It was dark, damp and cold, with a miserly fire burning in its snug, at which we sat to warm ourselves.

Mr. Winterbourne presented us each with a brandy, apologised again for the inconvenience and then left to return to his home and supper.

Holmes sniffed and hunched his shoulders dejectedly.

"I do not like this," the fellow confided to me. "For what purpose would this uncle and cousins arrive so unexpectedly and impose upon our client in such a manner?"

"Due to being flooded out of their own home," I retorted, amused by the manner in which my friend immediately believed it to have some bearing on the case. "You know Holmes, it could easily be a coincidence."

"Could it really?" he responded with a frown in my direction from the corner of his eye. "Well," he finished his brandy, shrugged his shoulders and leapt to his feet. "Well, there is no good in speculating. We should go to bed and make a start in the morning."

There was only one room reserved for us as two of the rooms had already been taken. When the landlady showed us up to the dark, draughty little attic room I found myself wondering how they could possibly rent it out. There were holes in the roof, the sash window rattled as if there were a gale blowing outside and the room smelt of damp and neglect.

As a doctor, I know the importance of avoiding cold, damp conditions when sleeping and I voiced my objections without hesitation.

"Oh Watson!" Holmes interrupted with an annoyed impatience. "I am sure that we are both much too fagged to even notice. We have no alternative so we shall simply have to manage in any case."

I gave no response, for I was angry with him for not agreeing with me. Perhaps the fellow has slept in worse conditions, I thought bitterly as I grudgingly requested some supper. My companion might not worry overly much about missing meals, but I was very hungry as we had not had a bite to eat since our hasty breakfast at the station before we set out.

"We stop serving food at nine," the landlady informed me coldly. "If you expected some dinner you should have got here sooner."

Holmes rested a placating hand on my arm as my temper threatened to get the better of me. I was cold, bone weary and terribly hungry and it was bad enough that I had to stay in that miserable inn as it was.

"You could manage a plate of sandwiches, surely?" the detective asked quietly as he addressed her with a bright smile. "We have had a very trying day and some refreshment would be very much appreciated."

I thanked my friend gratefully when the woman agreed, with the help of a sovereign, to send up a plate of sandwiches.

"Quite all right," the fellow responded with a yawn as he patted my shoulder. "I am a little hungry myself and I know how irate you can become when you need nourishment."

The sandwiches, when they finally arrived, were barely edible. The bread was stale and very tough - almost as tough, in fact, as the meat filling. Never the less, we were both terribly hungry and we ate with little complaint.

"Well, that was a nice meal, wasn't it?" Holmes remarked sarcastically as we stacked our empty plates on the dressing table. "And now... sleeping arrangements..."

There was a single, narrow bed provided and I gazed at it doubtfully. I was less than enthusiastic about sharing so confined a space with a tall man of six feet, even if he was very slender, but I liked the thought of one of us sleeping on a cold, dirty floor in a draught even less.

With a shrug and resigned sigh I prepared for bed, deciding that I would simply have to make the best of it. At least sharing the bed would help us both to keep warm, I told myself.

"I hope that you are not inclined to move too much when you sleep," I remarked to my companion over my shoulder.

"I shall sleep on the floor," Holmes informed me. "We could never both fit in that little cot!"

I turned to face the fellow as I deposited my clothes into an old chair which stood beside a rickety and heavily cobwebbed dressing table.

"You would contract pneumonia on that draughty floor," I argued. "It is bad enough that we have to sleep in here at all."

He flailed his arms with annoyance. "Oh! Very well Doctor. If it will only keep you from fretting."

"I am not 'fretting' needlessly Holmes. I happen to know that sleeping in cold, damp and draughty conditions can negatively impact upon one's health dreadfully."

He nodded and gazed at me searchingly. "Will you be all right?"

I nodded brusquely and took to the bed. Even that was damp! "I shall have to bear it, I suppose. Come on Holmes; we will both be a little warmer if we share body heat."

Holmes stretched himself out in his preferred sleeping position and I curled up close to his side. It did provide us both with a little extra warmth and, somehow, we managed to fall asleep. I attribute that to our fatigue, for it most assuredly was not due to comfort.

I knew not what the time was when I awoke, but the room was very dark when I was disturbed. Holmes was shivering vigorously in front of me and I instinctively pressed myself closer to the fellow.

"Are you awake Watson?"

There was something in my friend's tone that immediately drew my attention. If I did not know the fellow so well I might have been inclined to say that he sounded vulnerable.

"Yes Holmes. Are you all right? Are you cold?"

"I... No. That is... It is not cold that causes me to shiver like this. Are you honestly telling me that you have heard nothing?"

I sighed and patted his shoulder. "You had a bad dream old man. It often happens when a fellow is particularly weary."

"I did not imagine it!" he snapped back at me. "I was already awake."

I knew that my companion had fallen asleep before I had, so I doubted that. All the same, I knew better than to say as much.

"Well, what was it that you heard?"

The detective gave a particularly violent shiver and I realised that he was most certainly unnerved. More so, in fact, than I had ever seen him.

"Holmes?" I prompted gently.

"A scream. It was blood-curdling..."

I chuckled. "At this time of year, it is most likely the mating call of a fox old fellow. We are out in the country, after all."

Had it been common to hear foxes in Baker Street I would not have said it, but London's suburban foxes were quite small in number. It was highly likely that my friend could have forgotten where he was, allowing his sleepy mind to react to the sound before identifying it. Sherlock Holmes does have a very vivid imagination.

"First a nightmare and then the call of a fox!" my companion growled with irritation. "Do you truly believe that I know not what a fox sounds like? My father used to hunt the things for sport!"

"Not while they were calling for a mate surely?"

He sniffed and poked me in the stomach with a bony elbow. "That is not amusing."

I apologised quietly. "At least all would appear to be quiet now. Go back to sleep."

"We should investigate!"

I sighed and squeezed his shoulder. "Have you not noticed? There is not a sound Holmes. Surely a blood-curdling cry would have alerted more than just you?"

"I did not imagine it," he insisted in a rather hurt tone.

I gave his shoulder another squeeze. "Perhaps what you heard was one of the inn's patrons?" I suggested. "A cry of laughter or rage, from a person a little the worse for drink? Could it not be possible?"

He sniffed again and squirmed closer to me with a sleepy mumble.

"Good night Holmes," I responded quietly as I rested my hand upon his arm and closed my eyes. "Do try to sleep."

I was just on the edge of slumber when my friend pulled away from me and leapt from the bed, almost knocking me to the floor in the process. I sat up and stared at the fellow, wondering what could be the matter now.

"A snake. In the bed. I felt it - the damned thing touched my foot."

I quickly got up and approached his side when I realised that he looked rather unwell. His eyes were a little too bright and the manner in which he was moving his jaw suggested that he was swallowing convulsively.

"Holmes, have you taken anything tonight?" I asked of him quietly. The question was a reasonable one, for his behaviour, appearance and inability to settle suggested as much.

He pulled away from me with a snarl. "I am not imagining things! How dare you! No. In answer to that impertinent question I have not taken any cocaine today. Nor have I done so for more than a month! Are you satisfied with my answer or should I prove it to you? Here! Inspect my arm!"

I apologised to my friend profusely, wishing for all the world that I could be rather more tactful when half-asleep.

"I shall check the bed then, shall I?" I asked the fellow wearily, realising that I was not going to be able to persuade him to get back into it if I did not first prove to him that there was no snake, even though I knew that such a creature could not possibly survive in so cold a room.

I lit the candle on the bedside cabinet and then, very carefully, pulled back each sheet and rug in turn while my companion looked on with a shoe held tightly in his hand. Were I not so very tired I might have found the situation amusing.

"It slipped away to the foot of the bed when it startled me," he informed me helpfully. "It was between the sheet on the mattress and those that were covering us. Do have a care Watson!"

I was very much convinced that the snake was simply the product of a sleepy and over-active imagination - and, as I have already mentioned, Sherlock Holmes has a very vivid imagination - but I humoured him just the same. To my amazement I discovered, upon tugging back the covers with a flourish, a bicycle tyre in the very place that my friend had described.

"Well, it is not a snake," said I with a yawn as I removed it from the bed. "How that came to be here I do not know and I am rather too weary to care. Well? Are you going to get some rest now?"

My companion gave a cavernous yawn. "Yes," was all that he said as he scrambled between the sheets alongside me once more, causing me to fully appreciate that I truly was not the only fellow who was bone weary.

"Lie on your side with your back to me and curl up," I suggested gently when I realised that my friend was still shivering with vigour. "Stretching yourself out as you are wont to do will hardly help you to conserve heat; I shall keep your back warm if you would permit me to do so."

He sniffed and followed my advice. "What about you?"

I drew close to him and rested my head at his shoulder.

"Are you warm enough Watson?"

"Yes Holmes," I assured him quietly as I pressed my aching leg and shoulder close to him. "Are you?"

He yawned loudly and pressed his cold feet against my leg. Thankfully, his choice of limb was not my injured one. "Yes. Thank you."

"Good. Get some sleep then."

I know not how long I slept, but I was soon disturbed once more. On this occasion it was a half-stifled sneeze from my companion that dragged me from my slumber and back to that damp room, to the sound of a high wind and heavily falling rain, and I immediately attempted to better warm the fellow.

"Bless you," I whispered softly, hoping that my friend was still sleeping.

"Sorry Watson. Did I wake you?"

I assured him that it did not matter. "Are you feeling well?"

"Yes. I am not even as cold as I was. Thank you."

I closed my eyes and was just returning to sleep when there was a sudden cry which made us both tremble with fear, for the sound was simply not natural.

"I did not imagine that," Holmes hissed pointedly. "Nor does it sound like any creature that I have ever heard before."

"Indeed not," I responded quietly, for it was most assuredly not the cry of a fox.

"Should we go and investigate?"

I knew that we probably should, but I was tired, cold and much more frightened than I cared to admit. Rather than give a reply, I merely drew closer to my friend's back.

"No?"

I gave a shiver that was not entirely due to the chill in the room. "I am rather too weary to move Holmes."

He squeezed my hand. "Tomorrow we shall seek out rather more suitable accommodation."

Comforted by the thought, I attempted to relax when a sudden, bright light filled the room and we each attempted to shield our dazzled eyes.

"Sherlock Holmes, leave this place!" shrieked a voice. "Leave now!"

I felt my friend grab my hand and press himself closer to me. Then there was a crash of thunder and the light was gone in an instant.

"Are you all right Watson?"

I swallowed with difficulty. "This inn is haunted! That voice...! It sounded as if it came from the very depths of Hell."

I felt him give a violent shiver. "Whatever it was, it wanted to frighten us."

It had certainly succeeded!

"Well, I cannot possibly sleep now," he muttered as he sprang from the bed. "Would you mind if I were to light the candle?"

"Not at all. Could you pass me my dressing gown?"

He did as he was asked and hastily pulled on his own. "It is deucedly cold in here."

It was indeed and I coughed into my hand, my throat protesting the chill and damp of the room, and caused the fellow to turn to me.

"Are you sure that you are all right?"

"Yes Holmes. I am simply tired and cold." And so frightened that my throat was dry, but I was not about to admit as much to him.

My friend frowned at me for a long moment and then ordered me to get back into bed. "I do not wish for you to catch a chill."

I assured him that I was quite all right and simply snatched up one of the rugs and pulled it about my shoulders. Had the fellow listened to my protestations when we were shown into the room I might have been more inclined to pay his concerns more heed now; as it was, I found that I was not in the mood.

"You know best Doctor," the fellow muttered darkly as he moved to light the candle. Having done so, he stopped still. "Watson! Look at the dressing table!"

The mirror was dripping with blood.

With a hand that he could not quite keep from shaking, Holmes took up the lit candle and approached the dressing table. I could see by the glow that the dust and webs had been disturbed.

"What is it Holmes?"

"A message," he replied as he rubbed his hand across the glass.

"What are you doing?" I asked incredulously. I could not understand why he would wish to destroy evidence.

He whirled to face me with wide, terrified eyes. "You should not stay here Watson. The conditions are far from healthy. Perhaps our client would permit you to sleep on his settee, were you to get over to his place now..."

Whatever it was that had been written on that mirror had clearly frightened my friend so much that he now feared for my safety. I approached his side and touched his shoulder.

"I have endured worse conditions than this and I am not leaving you. Besides, how could I sleep while you are here alone in these dreadful conditions? No Holmes - we shall stay together, as always."

He gave me the hint of a smile, but I could see that he was still somewhat fearful. His eyes were shining brightly in the candlelight, his face was pale (even by his standards) and a sheen of sweat beaded his brow and cheeks.

I sniffed and turned my attention to the drops of water that were falling from the holes in the roof and pattering onto the floor.

"It is a filthy night," my companion muttered with a slight nod, as if reading my mind. "You have my sincerest apologies Watson. I should never have brought you here. You could be safe - snug - in your bed at home, with a warm fire in the grate..."

I ran a hand across my weary eyes. Despite the fear, the cold and all of the unpleasantness my mind and body were still crying out for rest and I wished that I had attempted to sleep during the train journey.

"You are upset."

I met his gaze quickly. "No Holmes, I am exhausted. I need sleep."

"Do you think that you could sleep, even now?" the fellow asked in disbelief as his glittering eyes swept over my face searchingly.

I sniffed again and rubbed at my shoulder. "I know that I shall be of little use to you if I do not."

"Come on then," he picked up my clothes from off of the chair upon which I had left them and dusted them off before handing them to me. "Get dressed and we shall find somewhere to sleep."

"Where can we go to at this time of night?" I asked as I stepped into my trousers.

"Anywhere would be better than this room. Even the horses' accommodation!"

"Holmes! I am not sleeping with the horses."

He turned to smirk at me as he buttoned his shirt. "And yet you would share a bed with me. I am flattered. Put your tie away, I should - you would only have to take it off again to sleep."

"I'd rather share a bed with you than nurse you through a cold," I retorted with a smile of my own in answer to his remark about being flattered. "Are we truly going out to the stables?"

He shrugged his shoulders and helped me into my coat. "Only if there is nowhere else. I shall have words with our client tomorrow Watson."

"What will you tell him?"

He pulled on his cloak, tossed his night clothes into one of his bags and took up his travelling cap.

"I shall tell him that it is imperative that I am somewhat closer to hand in case of emergency. Humph! That is most certainly true enough."

We gathered up our belongings, snatched the rugs from off of the bed, quietly made our way back downstairs and crept into the snug. Holmes then directed me to take to the settee there while he piled coal on the smouldering remains of the meagre fire.

"Are you quite comfortable?" the fellow asked of me with a yawn.

I nodded and yawned in turn. "Yes thank you. I think I can sleep now."

He patted my arm absently. "Good. Get some sleep then my dear chap; we have much to do tomorrow."

"What about you?"

"I shall be quite all right," he assured me as he perched on the arm of the sofa and took my hand. "I tend not to require as much sleep as you do and I have already had some rest. Besides, I shall feel better if I remain on watch."

"All right then. Good night old fellow."

I felt his fingers squeeze my hand. "Good night."

When Holmes saw fit to wake me, the time was ten minutes to six. I groaned and rubbed a hand across my aching forehead as I sat up.

"What is it?" my companion asked hastily. "Are you unwell? Do you think that you should return to London?"

I smiled at Holmes' obvious concern for me, for that (coupled with the knowledge that he barely spares his own health or safety any regard at all) was comforting indeed.

"No," I reassured him. "I am simply feeling the effects of a disturbed sleep. But you must be rather more weary than I am! Are you all right?"

He nodded and addressed me with just the hint of a smile. "Of course I am. Now, tell me... Do you feel well enough for a drive? I do not think that I would like to have breakfast here, if our hosts cannot even provide an adequate sandwich."

"I would be delighted."

"Excellent Watson. We had better freshen up in 'our' room. It would never do to call upon our client in disarray."

We each attended to our toilet, changing into clothes that were not crumpled from having been slept in, and were both ready to leave before half past six.

I was just repacking my brush and comb when Holmes returned to the room with a downcast expression.

"What ever is the matter old man?" I asked with no little concern.

He quirked his lips at me in a lightning-quick smile which far from touched his eyes. "I am terribly sorry Watson," said he quietly. "I have spent the last quarter of an hour arguing with the landlord and his wife. It is no good. They refuse to lend us their cart."

I sniffed and absently rubbed at my paining shoulder.

"And your old wounds are hurting you. That is my fault - it is entirely my fault! It was deucedly thoughtless of me to accept this room. I should know by now that the cold will make your pains worse."

I did my utmost to assure my friend that I was all right, but I knew well enough that I could not conceal my discomforts from him.

"Were I to hire horses, would you be fit to ride one?" the fellow asked while his eyes appraised me once more.

"Yes Holmes."

"Are you sure?"

I nodded and addressed him with a smile. "I am fine Holmes. Really."

"Very well then. You had might as well wait for me in the snug, if you are ready to leave. We shall have to leave the bags for now, so be sure to take anything that you might need or want - like your revolver."

I stowed our luggage beneath the bed, though I ensured that there was nothing of value within any of the bags first, and then took my companion's advice and went down to the snug. Once there, I made myself comfortable in the high backed armchair, close to the remains of the fire.

I was dozing when Holmes returned and rested a gentle hand at my aching shoulder. He grimaced apologetically when I gave a start and hissed with pain, but he said nothing, for which I was most grateful.

I handed my friend his gun and the money that he had left at the bottom of one of his bags. He then led me out into the dim light of a miserable, cold dawn and we approached the two horses that he had managed to hire. I was relieved to see that they were in far better condition than the room that we had been forced to stay in. They were robust, keen and willing; the moment that we took to our saddles we were away at a canter.

"On a fine morning, this countryside would be most beautiful," I remarked to the detective when we startled a pair of pheasants and they flapped away into the mist that clung about the trunks of the trees at the roadside and turned the fields into swirling seas of grey. From somewhere nearby came the sound of moving water, but the stream which made the sound remained hidden from view.

The fellow merely snorted and gazed at the view through narrowed eyes.

"Is something wrong Holmes?"

He shook his head as if waking from a daydream and addressed me with the hint of a brief smile. "No Watson."

We continued on in silence for a time. Indeed, I did not utter another sound until the cloud cover became heavier and decided to produce still more rain with a crash of thunder which startled my mount.

"Woah!" I gasped as the horse shied, only just managing to keep my seat in the saddle. "Steady old girl. Steady."

Holmes drew close to me. "Are you all right Watson?"

I was far from it. Though I had not been thrown, my leg was aching terribly as a result of my quick reactions - to say nothing of the cold and wet.

My friend did not need an answer. He knew how I was before he had even asked the question.

"Not much further now old fellow," was all that he said, for which I was indeed most thankful, as he lightly patted my knee with a sympathetic nod. With that, we set off again.

By the time we reached our client's home I was shivering with vigour and found myself unable to keep from sniffing, despite frequent attempts to quietly clear my nose.

"For goodness sake blow your nose," Holmes growled at me with annoyance as he dismounted.

I obeyed as quietly as I was able, though it did not end the sniffles. My companion's piercing grey eyes studied me with care as I in turn dismounted beside him while he held the reins of my mount, but he said nothing more. I did notice, however, that I was not the only fellow with the sniffles - he dabbed at his nose with his handkerchief frequently and sniffed once or twice.

"Mr. Holmes! Doctor Watson!" our client was at the door of his home and beckoning for us to approach. "You should have sent for a cab! You should never have come all this way on horseback in this miserable weather! Poole! Tend to these horses at once! Please, come inside gentlemen. Warm yourselves in the parlour before you catch cold."

My friend gestured for me to enter the house ahead of him without a word. That did not strike me as untoward at all until the fellow gave a rather sudden and loud sneeze which appeared to set him coughing. I turned in the doorway, having already wiped my feet, to find the chap leaning upon the front doorframe while his thin body heaved and shuddered with wracking coughs.

"Holmes!" I grasped him by the shoulders and allowed our client to guide us both through to the parlour. Once there, Mr. Winterbourne wasted no time in depositing the ailing detective upon his sofa.

"Wilkes!" our client called anxiously. "Brandy! Quickly! And some drinking water."

I had already checked Holmes for fever and was relieved to find none in evidence. All the same, his cough did alarm me and I regretted leaving my medical bag at the inn.

"How are you feeling Holmes?" I asked the fellow once he had taken a little brandy.

"Oh Watson!" he gave me a wry, if somewhat weary, smile and shook his head. "I am all right. Really I am."

With that, he burst into a further round of coughing that left him almost bent double. I feared for the fellow terribly and my concern only increased when he straightened, allowing me to see that he had tears, clearly brought on by the violence of his cough, rolling down his slightly flushed cheeks.

"You must stay here," Mr. Winterbourne told my ill colleague. "Venturing out into that dreadful weather will do you no good at all. No Mr. Holmes, I insist; it is no trouble. My cousins can share a room for a day or two."

My friend forced a smile of gratitude to his lips and nodded. "Thank you. If you are sure..." he coughed into his handkerchief and grimaced. "Excuse me. If you are quite sure that we shall not be in the way..."

"Oh yes - I am certain. You are likely to catch pneumonia if you set foot outside while you are already unwell! Besides, I have plenty of room here and so I could not possibly send you back to that inn in good conscience, could I? No indeed! You must stay here. I shall send for your bags at once."

I thanked the fellow gratefully and then asked whether it was at all possible to send Holmes off to bed.

"If Mr. Winterbourne does not object, I would prefer to convalesce here for a while Watson," my friend interjected quickly with a yawn. "My head is aching and I would much rather rest where I am. For a bit."

Poor Holmes! The fellow must have been suffering terribly, for he would usually have much preferred to have retreated to a private refuge while feeling unwell, so as not to be disturbed.

"You may stay there for as long as you like," Winterbourne assured him. "I must confess that I feel horribly guilty!"

These words arrested my companion's attention at once, for he opened his eyes and gestured for the fellow to explain his meaning.

"My uncle has listened patiently to all of my fears and he is convinced that I am in no danger," the fellow explained. "And, the more that I think about it, the more convinced I become that the old fellow is indeed right. I should never have urged for you to come here - and now you have fallen ill for your pains!"

The detective waved a hand and gently shook his head. "You need not worry about me. As for your sending for me, it was wise of you to do so while you were alone and fearing for your life. No, no! You have done nothing... Ah..." he covered his nose and mouth with his handkerchief as he turned away to sneeze explosively. With that he turned back, his usually sharp eyes dim and weary, and uttered a low groan. "Oh, do excuse me. You have done nothing wrong."

"God bless you Mr. Holmes. And thank you."

The fellow merely gave the ghost of a smile and covered his eyes with his arm.

Taking that as an indication to leave the fellow alone to rest for a while, Mr. Winterbourne ushered me into the hall.

"I meant every word Doctor," said he quietly. "I could hardly send either one of you back to that draughty, ramshackle old inn! I did wonder whether I had done you wrong when I left you there last night and now I know that I have. Please do forgive me."

The poor chap was too sincere for me to feel even slightly angered with him and I quickly told him that he need apologise no more. With a sigh of relief he then proceeded to give me a tour of the house and showed to me the little twin bedroom that he intended to have prepared for Holmes and myself.

"Have you had any breakfast?" he asked suddenly. "You must have set out early indeed to reach the house at this hour. No? Then allow me to remedy that at once! Come, come! What would you like?"

I did not have much heart for breakfast, but I did manage some toast and a cup of tea. I knew from experience that Holmes' illness would be likely to wear me down even more than it would him and so I ate what I could. I then returned to the parlour to find Holmes shivering and coughing while he tossed and turned on the sofa.

"Who are you?" a gruff voice demanded from the door as I bent over my poor friend in order to tend to him. "What are you doing here?"

The weary grey eyes of my companion opened with a slow flutter. "Watson? Where am I? What has... Oh! My head... What has happened?"

"You have caught a cold," I informed him as I glared in the direction of the bristling elderly man who was still standing in the doorway. "Rather an unpleasant one, by all appearances. You need rest."

Holmes shivered and muffled a sneeze with his handkerchief. "I feel dreadfully tired."

"You would do Holmes. Rest now. Mr. Winterbourne has given you permission to do so -"

"Sherlock Holmes?" the elderly man demanded sharply. "Are you Sherlock Holmes? How dare you come here! How dare you! My nephew should never have consulted you; he has no need for amateurs and he has no reason to fear for his safety. He should have come straight to me. I would have told him as much, rather than encouraging his fanciful ideas!"

Holmes had screwed up his eyes and clutched at his head the moment that the infernal fellow had began to shout. I touched my dear friend's arm gently.

"Mr. Holmes and I are here as guests of your nephew. Furthermore, his illness is most likely due to the miserable conditions in which we were forced to spend last night - in which case, this fellow's illness is your doing; however indirectly."

"Watson, it is all right."

It most certainly was not all right, but I squeezed his arm and offered him a solicitous smile.

"Please old fellow... let me sleep. I am quite done up. Could you please pass me my cloak? Thank you. It is curious... a generous fire like that burning in the hearth and I have a chill in my very bones..."

I was terribly concerned and wished to stay close to my friend, but he merely waved me away. My companion has never enjoyed being the centre of attention under such circumstances and no amount of protestations on my part could convince him to permit me to stay with him.

As I left the parlour, Mr. Winterbourne approached me. "I have sent for your belongings Doctor," he informed me. "How is Mr. Holmes?"

"How is he!" his uncle raved from behind me. "The fellow should not even be here! He is neither needed nor welcomed."

Winterbourne's friendly and open countenance changed instantly. "Now you look here Uncle Henry; Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson are my guests. I invited them to stay as friends of mine. Do I make myself clear?"

"This is your house Daniel; do as you see fit," the fellow growled as he poked his nephew in the chest. "But do not cry to me when Holmes demands an outrageous fee for services that have not been rendered. Good day."

With that, he turned on his heel and marched away.

"I must apologise and beg that you excuse Uncle Henry," Winterbourne whispered. "The fellow has only my best interests at heart - he is simply not very good at expressing his concerns calmly."

"Ah, I see," I attempted to smile. Of course I did sympathise with our client, but I felt nothing but disgust toward his uncle. My main concern, naturally, was for Holmes and I cared not at all for the insufferable elderly man who saw fit to treat the fellow so dreadfully while he was unwell.

"Come and meet my cousins," the chap suggested. "They shall be rather the more welcoming; both are sound fellows."

I doubted very much that they truly would welcome the interloper that had caused for them to be made to share a guest bedroom, but our client and host insisted. I was lead into the billiard room to find a game in play. Two young men, neither of whom could have been older than twenty years of age, greeted Winterbourne and I cheerfully.

"Daniel! Would you care to join us?" the fellow that I took to be the elder of the two asked as he leant upon his cue. "It would be much more fun. What do you say, Victor?"

"Oh, rather!" Victor agreed readily. "Great fun Robert. Well? Come in! Come in! Select a cue while we put everything in order for the game, what?"

"Yes, yes, all right," Winterbourne interjected pleasantly. "But first, introductions. Victor, Robert, I would like you to meet my friend Doctor Watson."

I smiled and shook them both by the hand. I could not help taking an immediate liking to the cousins of our host.

"Well, I hardly thought that the fellow could be Mr. Sherlock Holmes," Robert remarked with a smile. "Not slight enough and looks too healthy, what? Oh, excuse me Doctor, but I must have read your descriptions of the Great Detective a hundred times at least."

I might have been flattered were I not somewhat unsettled by the chap's words. I sincerely hoped that he was not going to mention any of the descriptions that I had made of my friend in front of him - particularly the less than flattering ones - or I would most likely never hear the last of it.

"My brother never misses one of your publications," Victor explained with a small smile. "You know how it is. We rarely get the opportunity to have a real adventure so we read about other peoples'."

"Yes, yes," Winterbourne interjected with good humour. "Life in the country is frightfully dull and all that. You shall learn one day to be thankful for what you have - position, security and wealth. Now, let us play billiards."

Quite unperturbed by their cousin's speech, Robert and Victor proceeded to ask me about various adventures that I had shared with Holmes. I soon learned that they had a particular interest in those cases which have only been alluded to.

The two young men were disappointed and became silent when I explained that I could not recall every detail regarding our cases instantly to mind, though the conversation did soon begin again. They next asked me which of our adventures were my personal favourites, whether there were any that I did not enjoy and so on. Despite my host's protestations and apologies I was rather pleasantly surprised by their level of interest and did all that I could to answer their questions.

"Where is Mr. Holmes?" Victor asked suddenly, when he had just taken his turn. "And does he play?"

I knew that Holmes enjoyed a game of chess but I could not say whether or not he would play billiards. Before I could respond, our client spoke.

"Mr. Holmes is ill and requires rest and quiet. You are not going to pester him. Is that understood?"

Both younger men nodded solemnly and promised to let my friend alone until he felt better.

"Good. Thank you. Now, whose turn is it?"

When the game reached its conclusion, I returned to the parlour. Our host had seen that Holmes was swathed in rugs and made comfortable and I was immensely grateful to him for his kindness.

"Watson?"

I approached my friend's side quietly and touched his hand to discover that it was hot. His face was also flushed and shining with perspiration.

"Holmes, when our bags arrive I should like to examine you. Would you permit that?"

The fellow attempted to push me away. "No. No, no. You do not wish to catch this illness. It is dreadful Watson! I know that summertime colds can be particularly trying, but I have never had a chill like this in the winter! I am weak, weary... and the dreams..." he shook his head with a groan and covered his eyes with a trembling hand. "Oh! Those dreams!"

I squeezed his arm gently. "Holmes, you must have caught this illness at the inn. In which case, I have already been exposed; there would be no point in keeping my distance."

"Never the less, I wish for you to have a care. Keep back."

"Very well Holmes."

My companion remained in the parlour all the day, until Mr. Winterbourne insisted that he go to bed in the evening. I assisted my ill friend on the stairs and helped him in preparing for bed.

"Watson... Do you trust me?" the fellow whispered as I tucked his coverlets about him and ensured that he was propped up, so as to ease his cough (he had refused every medicine for it that I had offered, saying that he would have to remain alert should 'the monster' visit him again. His dreams must truly have been terrifying!).

"Yes Holmes. I trust you with my life."

"You know that there is method to my madness - even if you cannot see it?" he insisted.

"Yes Holmes. What ever is it old fellow?"

"Could you stay awake tonight, do you think?"

"You are feeling worse?" I asked with concern.

"No. No, I do not need or wish for you to remain at my bedside. I shall be much better tomorrow. Already I feel improved from a day spent in warmth and comfort."

"Then what can I do old fellow?" I asked of him as I poured some drinking water into a glass for him.

He took the offered glass with a fleeting smile and nod of thanks. "Stay close to our client but do not let him or anybody else see you. Will you do it?"

"Yes Holmes. Of course I will."

"Thank you. The servants' doors are meant for discretion; they shan't creak. And see that you have your revolver at hand. Most importantly Watson, do not fall asleep."

Mr. Winterbourne was in his bedroom writing letters when I entered by way of the servants' door and concealed myself. I had not been in my hiding place for long when there was a knock at the main door and Robert poked his head in.

"I'm off to bed old thing," he said. "Doctor Watson and Mr. Holmes are already fast asleep and snoring. I asked the maid to check on them."

"Do not smirk like that Robert," his cousin scolded. "The poor fellows are more than likely fagged out after their long journey yesterday and uncomfortable night spent at the rather ironically-named Welcome Inn. I am not surprised that they are snoring."

"I suppose so Daniel. Well, good night old fellow."

"Good night. Oh! Are Uncle Henry and Victor still up?"

"Yes. I left them playing cards. I have no head for such things tonight; I thought that I should have an early night."

I listened to the exchange in silence and considered checking on my ill friend for a moment or two. If Holmes was making enough noise for the maid to have believed us both to have been snoring, he must surely have been finding breathing almost impossible! I would have went to him without delay, but I had promised to stay close to our client.

I was beginning to wish that I had chosen a hiding place in which I could either sit down or move a little, for my leg and shoulder were still paining me and I was rather regretting my joining in with the game of billiards earlier in the day.

Just as I was starting to think that I might have to risk moving to a better place of concealment the lights were doused and I heard Mr. Winterbourne get into bed. With a sigh of relief I shifted my weight on my feet and exercised my aching shoulder, safe in the knowledge that I would not draw attention to myself.

As I listened quietly I heard our client's breathing become slow and even as he fell asleep and, when I was quite sure that he would not wake if I were to make some small sound, I found a hiding place from which I could better watch over the fellow. I also ensured that I would be a little more comfortable.

The clock in the hall had just chimed three when the servants' door to the bedroom opened quietly and heavy feet crept inside. I heard someone place an object upon the dressing table and then the footsteps approached the bed.

I was wondering what to do when the door from the landing opened and the lights were turned up. There, standing at the bedside of our client, who had been roused and was sitting up, was Henry Winterbourne. In his gloved hand was a hypodermic needle.

"Put that down," came the clear, commanding voice of Sherlock Holmes, with the sound of a revolver being readied. "Put your hands in the air and seat yourself at the dressing table if you please. Thank you. Are you here Watson? You saw all? Splendid! Come on out then my good fellow."

The uncle of our client glared sullenly at my friend and I, as we each stood guard over him with our guns drawn.

"Not so very ill after all, I see," he muttered as he narrowed his eyes at Holmes.

"Not in the least, thank you," said he cheerfully. "It is a curious thing, but my constitution never permits me to become ill or tired when I have an interesting case at hand. Do you mind if I smoke, Mr. Winterbourne? Ah, thank you. Yes, your case was certainly of interest. Being followed while walking to the village by an obscured stranger. Hum! The sighting of the same stranger in the grounds..."

"But, Mr. Holmes," our client interjected, "I never once said that the fellow was obscured!"

"He was heavily bearded, wore a hat which he kept pulled down over his ears and eyes, had on a heavy coat - despite the pleasant warmth of the day on which you first saw him - the collar of which was turned up, and he walked with knees bent and back bowed. Mr. Winterbourne, that description speaks of concealment. You were being followed by a fellow whom you knew and did not wish to be recognised. Add to that the heavy stick that he carried..."

"That was not me!" the uncle shrieked.

Holmes shrugged and smiled coldly. "I rather think that it was, but it will be a simple matter for the police to search for the items described at your house to ascertain the details."

"How dare you!" our prisoner spat.

My friend's grey eyes flashed dangerously. "How dare I! How dare you sir! In all my years in this profession, this is the first occasion in which I have almost been framed for murder."

"What?" I heard his nephew gasp.

"Sit down Mr. Winterbourne," Holmes suggested kindly. "I am sorry for the terrible shock that I must cause to you - and your cousins - but you must know all. Yes, this man intended to murder you. He first intended to attack you in a lonely place when you went out walking, but he was frustrated by the number of neighbours that you would meet. This house is simply too near to the village.

"Now, were it not for the fact that you live alone I might not have come, but you were becoming fearful and I believed that you were right to be..."

"But why did you feign illness when you arrived?"

Holmes smiled and extinguished his cigarette in the nearby ashtray, never once pointing the gun away from the scowling man sitting at the dressing table.

"Well, I thought that something was afoot last night. Watson and I were clearly unwelcome guests - being made to stay in the most unaccommodating inn in the area, with someone there (probably the landlord and his wife) doing their utmost to scare us away..."

"Scare you?" our client repeated. "Were you threatened?"

"Oh, it was just a small matter of shrieks, screams, bright lights from nowhere..." he gave a sudden roar of laughter. "It would seem that the mention of my name can even unnerve ghosts!"

I did not mention that Holmes had been as scared as I at the time. Clearly, the fellow had calmed down when we had gone down to the snug, with its warm fire and the reassuring glow of candlelight, and had thought long and hard while he stayed up and watched over me.

"Well, I did not think that you would send Watson and I back to that miserable inn if one of us was unwell - and, as you see, it was vital that we remained close at hand - and I have adopted an illness once or twice before when a situation has required it. I do apologise for the concern that I have caused to you."

"Oh, never mind that! But why did you make Doctor Watson conceal himself in my room with me?"

My companion smiled. "Well... First of all, I remembered what you said about your uncle and cousins being forced to stay here due to flooding and considered that to be rather strange. The floodwater is receding all the time - though it is still a problem in some parts - and yet they only arrived yesterday, on the very day that Watson and I were expected. And that was suggestive.

"I was almost certain that some form of attempt would be made tonight - and by Uncle Henry here - when the fellow stole into the parlour while I was 'sleeping' and pressed a small glass bottle into my hand. That was rather a gamble, was it not?"

The prisoner glowered dangerously at my companion. "Had you been as ill as you were supposed to be, you should have believed it to have been a scene from a dream, had you been aware of the incident at all. Humph! Had you been ill."

Holmes smiled. "Yes. I suppose that, seeing as that worked so well, you then thought that you would also press the murder weapon into my hand before using it, seeing as Watson and I were clearly fast asleep when you checked on us... It must have seemed all too delicious for you, implicating the detective who came here to save your intended victim."

"You, sir, are a meddler!" the man snarled at my friend. "You shall not die in your bed, Mr. Holmes. If not by my hand..."

But the fellow was laughing again. "Neither, I fancy, will you. Ah! And that, I do believe, is the heavy knock of the local police force. Capital! Mr. Winterbourne, do be so kind as to have the inspector shown up. Oh! And your cousins know nothing of this dreadful business - be gentle with them; they shall need your support, I fear."

As Holmes and I made our way back to our bedroom, my companion heaved a sigh and shook his head.

"A sad business Watson," said he quietly. "Sad indeed. I think that we should return to London immediately and intrude on this family's grief no longer than can be helped."

I agreed quietly. "You did save our client's life."

"Oh, yes. I do not regret that old fellow."

"But you regret catching the uncle in the act?"

Holmes stopped walking and tilted back his head, closing his eyes tiredly. "I regret that there are innocent and good men who will be left behind to mourn the blackguard's death."

I patted his shoulder sympathetically. "From what I have seen, those that are left behind to mourn will be of great comfort to one another old man," said I with a small smile.

I am happy to announce that my prediction proved to be correct. Mr. Daniel Winterbourne was so moved by his cousins' anguish that he very kindly insisted that they remain with him until they were to see fit to move on, saying that he would be glad of their company.

Furthermore, Holmes and I have since enjoyed a stay with the three fellows as guests in their beautiful country home, under much happier circumstances, and I am pleased to report that our friends are content and doing very well.


End file.
